Those of us who lean towards mysticism (you know who you are) are afflicted with a terrible longing—to know the face of the Divine, to see the Unseen, to feel that we are being supported by something larger than ourselves.

We are also terrified of it. And so when the Spirit comes, we turn the other way, and refuse its offerings, and convince ourselves that we’ve been kicked out of the garden.

The great work of trusting the Unseen is not about accessing some power we don’t already possess, it’s about learning how to recognize the signs that are already here, and saying yes to what comes.

Colorado has just lived through a collective trauma. Through it we have learned what is reliable (like community) and what is not (like the roads). One of the most challenging aspects of collective trauma is that there are many people, living side by side, having the same experience from radically different perspectives.

And the gap between those perspectives is sometimes big enough for a car to fall through.

The torrential rains have stopped here in Boulder. And life, for some, is returning to normal. The sun is shining, people are going back to work, and others are ripping up carpets from their basements, or assessing their damages. Stores are open, as are many roads.

But members of our community are still unaccounted for. Lyons and Estes and Jamestown are still underwater, so to speak. And the town of Salina has been destroyed.